


Crash

by amporasbitch



Series: Tumblr Requests [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amporasbitch/pseuds/amporasbitch
Summary: Bim is good at everything, until he isn't. He piles endless work and expectations onto his shoulders until he inevitably crashes. Today, he crashes in front of Wilford.Inspired by a request from Tumblr!





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr made a request from a prompt list, which was Wilford saying "You're going to bed. Now." to Bim. How could I not write a fic about the show host bros? I did make it way angstier than I probably needed to, though. Old habits never die, I guess :p
> 
> Enjoy!

Bim is good at a lot of things. He’s a great show host, a pretty good scriptwriter, and not too bad a video editor. He knows how to make a crowd laugh and cry, cheer and boo. He can sing a little, act a lot, cut a rug when he has a mind to, and knows his way around backstage. More than that, he’s good with the other egos, too. He can placate Wilford when filming goes wrong, he can get the Jims to stand still and listen, and he never fails to make Oliver smile. Bim knows what he’s good at, and he makes sure everyone else knows it, too.

But there’s one thing he’s good at that he often fails to recognize: His talent for working himself too hard, for doing too much at once for too long.

After all, when one’s the best at doing something, why let anyone else take the wheel?

But it drains him, day in and day out, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Being there for everyone else and putting every project in the studio on his shoulders are both wearing him down. Bim is exhausted, staying afloat with endless coffee and his own pulsing anxiety. It thrums in the back of his mind with every heartbeat, do better, do better, do better. You’re Bim Trimmer, it murmurs. You’re Bim Trimmer and you can’t let them forget it. If you aren’t at your best you’ll just be forgotten again, and you can’t let that happen. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t rest. Don’t relax. There’s no time. No time.

It’s a cycle Bim is used to, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

This time is especially bad, if only because Bim can feel the end of his rope fraying and it’s only morning on the set of “Hire My Ass.” Everything is going wrong. The main camera has an unexpected technical problem, one of the contestants is late and won’t answer Bim’s (many) calls, and the bullet Wilford fires in frustration is one too many for the catwalk beam it hits, causing most of it to fall down and nearly crush Reporter Jim. And of course Bim has to console him, and then he has to calm down Wilford, and then he has to keep calling the contestant, and then he has to figure out that camera…

_Don’t crash, don’t crash, not now, please not now–_

But it’s too late for that. Bim excuses himself from still-shaken Reporter Jim and makes a mad dash for somewhere, anywhere quiet and lonely for him to ride out his crash as fast as possible and get back to work, but he’s stopped by a strong grip on his arm making him stumble.

“Woah there, Bimmy, where the heck are you going?” Wilford asks.

“Just–I mean–I have to–” Bim stammers. It really is just his luck today, isn’t it?

“Spit it out, Bim,” Wilford says good-naturedly, “We’ve got a lot of bullshit to deal with at the moment.” As calm as he sounds, there’s the slightest tint of pink ringed around his pupils, a sign of how angry he’s becoming at all the morning’s problems.

“Oh man, I know,” Bim says, trying to match Wilford’s tone but falling just short, “I’m gonna, um, grab some gloves and take care of that beam. Don’t want splinters, you know.” Wilford blinks.

“One of the employees can deal with that,” Wilford says, “No sense in getting wood chips all over your snazzy suit.” He claps Bim’s shoulder.

“Then I’ll g-go check the camera, see what I can do about that,” Bim says, a little too quietly. The crash is rearing hard and fast now that he’s finally stopped moving for more than a moment, and his brain and body are catching up with each other. Wilford frowns.

“That’s not your job, either,” he says, “You don’t gotta sweat the small stuff.”

Bim would laugh or call Wilford out on his pinkish eyes if he weren’t so miserable.

“Well, I gotta do something,” Bim insists, “I c-can’t just sit around and do nothing while it all just f-falls apart, I have to, I gotta–”

“Bim–”

“I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I can’t–”

The crash hits.

Bim buckles, and Wilford only barely catches him. He starts to cry, unconsciously clinging to Wilford, looking for any sort of grounding. He breathes too hard, too fast, and within moments he’s choking on his sobs and drowning in the thoughts swirling through his mind.

_It’s done. It’s over. You’re too weak. You’re not good enough. You’re of no use to anyone. They’re going to forget you. You’re going to disappear just like you almost did when you were first made, just like you should have. They’ll know it was all a sham, that you were never as good at everything as you made them think you were. You’ve ruined everything._

“Easy, easy,” Wilford soothes, holding Bim close to him, “Bim, c’mon, we’ve dealt with worse before, you don’t gotta panic.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, ‘m sorry,” Bim gasps, too wrapped up in his anxiety to notice that there’s no pink in Wilford’s eyes anymore.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant, just–” Wilford sighs, beginning to understand what’s happening. “Look, Bim, you don’t have to do everything. How long have you been running on empty, chap?”

Bim is hyperventilating too much to answer, still crying hard.

“Alright, alright, shh,” Wilford murmurs, adjusting his hold on Bim so he can free up a hand to stroke Bim’s hair. “Shhhhh, Bimmy, Wilfy’s gotcha.”

Bim sobs into Wilford’s shoulder as Wilford soothes him, talking to him with a gentleness that Bim hardly ever sees from him. A couple minutes last like this before Bim’s tears stop, leaving him exhausted and shaking. The worst of the crash is over, but he’s still in bad shape.

“Thanks, Wil,” Bim manages, trying to pull away, “Thanks a bunch, really, but now I’ve gotta go, get everything fixed–”

“Did you hear a word I said??” Wilford asks, indignant, refusing to let Bim go. “You’re in no condition to be filming. You’re going to bed. Now.”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” Bim says.

“And you probably haven’t slept in days, judging by those bags under your eyes,” Wilford counters, poking Bim’s cheek. Bim curses internally, knowing his stage makeup must’ve been washed away by his crying.

“But Wil, the show–”

“No buts. The world’s not gonna end if we delay filming, no matter how much you think it will.”

“Wil–!”

“I said no buts!”

“I didn’t even say but!”

“You were gonna! Look, you’re going to bed and that’s that. You need sleep right now.”

In the next moment, Wilford teleports them both to Bim’s bedroom, dropping Bim onto his bed and making him yelp.

“There,” Wilford says, “Now you _have_ to go to bed.”

“I can leave whenever I want, you can’t lock the door from the outside,” Bim mutters, but even just sitting on his bed is making him realize how tired he is.

“Oh?” Wilford says, smug, “I think I can turn your door into a brick wall if I feel like it. I can do whatever I want, and _you_ can sleep.”

Bim yawns, he can’t help it. He’s so exhausted from everything, but the bad thoughts, even now, won’t let up.

“I’m just…” Bim sighs, sadness heavy in his voice, “I feel like I have to be doing something. If I disappoint people or let them down, they’ll…they’ll…” He can’t bring himself to say it.

Wilford’s expression softens. He knows what Bim is referring to. As close as the two are and as similar as they are to each other, it’s the one defining difference between them: The fact that Wilford has no idea what it’s like to be forgotten and probably never will, and that it’s all Bim can think about on days like this.

“Bim,” Wilford says, leaning down to Bim with a soft smile, “The only person you’re letting down right now is yourself.”

“But–”

“What did I say about buts?” Wilford grins. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll let you keep your door for now, but if I catch you in the studio anytime soon I’ll definitely be blocking it.” He ruffles Bim’s hair. “Next time I see you, I want you to be in top-notch condition, inside and out. Got it?”

“…Yeah,” Bim answers, giving a shaky but genuine smile. Wilford smiles back before he poofs away.

When Wilford poofs back into the room an hour later to check on Bim, he’s already under the covers, fast asleep and dreaming peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> I sometimes reblog prompt lists on my Tumblr, juju-on-that-yeet, so if you ever want to request something head over there! Now that it's summer and I'm out of school (for good!! holy shit), I want to write more and finish up some lingering projects *cough*whenevilrearsitshead*cough*


End file.
